Nightmares

Chapter 9

hey hey guess what I spent 6 hours working on

I could've been working on this or on schoolwork or literally anything else, but no, I decided that I was gonna sit down and murder my back and my fingers for 6 hours :D

sorry about not updating this for a while. I'm in my first year of high school and it caught me by surprise. I'm sort of used to it now but I don't have much time to work on personal projects anymore because I use all of my free time to make myself less stressed because seasonal depression sucks and stress makes it worse-

I will get around to finishing this book eventually. I think I'm about half-way or 2/3 of the way done with the pre-writing stage (I'm currently on chapter 11 or 12, can't remember). I can't believe I've been writing this on and off for nearly year now-
I started writing the prologue in my grandparents' car as they took my brother and I to eat dinner at Chili's sometime in mid-January, and now it's already November-

I will now allow you to return to your regularly scheduled program-

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America sighed, slamming his locker door shut, slinging his larger backpack over his shoulder. He had decided to only take one of his backpacks with him rather than both. It wasn't necessary to carry around two all the time, and it would only get in the way. The plan was to just pack all of the school items he needed into his larger backpack and leave his actual school backpack at school.

He walked down the semi-crowded hallway, focusing on his feet rather than watching and talking to the people around him. Ame was still shaken from what had happened earlier that day. He lifted his injured hand into view, inspecting the bandages wrapped around it.

~Flashback~

America stepped into the boys' restroom, this time to actually use it rather than calm himself down. He quickly did his business and went to the sinks to wash his hands (a/n: y'all better be doing that).

Heya, 'Meri, a voice said in a sweet yet sinister tone. Long time, no see.

He jerked his head up to the mirror to see who was in there with him. His heart rate rapidly increased as he searched. Something about the voice put him on edge.

He hadn't yet realized that the voice wasn't coming from behind him.

"W-who's there?" Ame stammered, trying and failing to mask the fear in his voice. He tried to figure out which country the voice belonged to. Nobody came to mind.

Then, he remembered.

Aw, I'm hurt! the voice complained, his tone laced with mock hurt. You don't remember me, 'Meir? After all we've been through together?

It was him.

It was fucking him.

The voice laughed as America directed his attention to his reflection. He recoiled, his eyes widening with terror. What was staring back at him in the mirror wasn't his own reflection.

It was Confederate's.

"Wh-why?" he asked, his shock causing him to begin hyperventilating. "W-why are you here, Dixie?"